“No, I won’t do it,” I insisted.
“Fine. It’s okay.” He pulled me in his arms again until I calmed down, then took my coat and threw it on the bed. “Sit. I’ll get us something to drink. Don’t move or touch anything.”
I scooted against the headboard and curled my legs under me. It was hard to get over how different his room was. I picked up his iPod and browsed through his music library. Classic rock, some heavy metal, alternative rock. I smiled when I saw some of my favorites.
“Didn’t I say not to touch anything?” he scolded.
I wrinkled my nose, took the can of cream soda from his hand and put it down. I looked at him with anticipating. “I’m ready for my surprise.”
“So am I.” He rubbed his hands as he walked backward to the first canvas and slowly turned around with it.
It was a painting of the sunset from Haleakala in Maui, our special spot in Hawaii. I hopped off the bed and went to kneel in front of the painting. The colors were vibrant. He’d even included the rock he and I had sat on, except it had our initials and a heart.
“Did we do that?” I whispered.
“You did.”
I traced the initials, remembering our vow to always meet on that mountain if something catastrophic happened and we were separated. How many times had we visited it since that first day?
I blinked back a sudden rush of tears and glanced up at him. He was such a gifted artist. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
“You think so? I thought I could add more color here,” he pointed at a section of the sky, “and make the clouds fuller here.”
“It’s perfect.” How could it not be? He’d painted it. For me. I stood, took the painting from his hand and propped it against the wall. But when I turned around, he was holding the second canvas—a painting of me. A breathtaking me. A perfect me.
I wore a Gypsy skirt and top, charm bracelets and anklets, and my feet were bare. I didn’t recognize the beach, but the radiant smile on my face said I was happy and in love. He’d caught my slightly slanted green eyes, made my skin more flawless, my chest…bigger. I think. I looked down, then back at the painting. I guess his perception mattered more than mine, and my hair had never been that beautiful.
“Is that how you see me?” I whispered.
He put the painting aside and smiled, closing the gap between us. “No. That is who you are.” He ran his knuckles down the side of my face. “Beautiful,” he murmured against my temple, then moved lower and pressed his lips near my ear and whispered, “Smart.” He moved lower and nuzzled my neck. “Impossible.” His breath was hot against my skin, sending a Shockwave through my flesh.
I’d stopped breathing at “That is who you are.” All I could think about was his lips against mine. When he turned his head, eye blazing, I knew my wish was about to come true.
We kissed. Pure, refined heat warmed my insides while goose bumps spread on the surface of my skin. I pressed against him, seeking his warmth, needing to forget all my problems in his arms. His fingertips flitted down my back until they reached the curve of my hip, where my shirt met my pants.
He muttered something under his breath, lifted me up and carried me to his bed, his emerald eyes intense as they met mine, his movements gentle as he lowered me down.
I leaned up and tried to pull him closer, but he resisted. Laughing softly under his breath, he ran his fingertips up and down my arms, making me tremble. Turning his head, he pressed his lips along the sensitive skin on my wrist, then moved toward my shoulder, then my neck. A few more teasing nibbles then our lips met again.
Time lost meaning. My problems melted away, by his kiss, his touch, his love. We were wrapped in our own little world, where nothing else mattered, but us and the feelings swirling around us.
But somewhere in the back of my mind was a niggling warning not to fully let go. A blend of our energies could seriously hurt Bran. Reduce him to a catatonic state worse than Grampa earlier. If I could hurt a powerful Psi like my grandfather, the things I could do to Bran could be worse.
“Thinking about the Cardinal while making out is a total ego-crusher,” Bran whispered.
I blinked, my mind slow to process what he was saying. “What?”
“I could hear your thoughts.”
I covered my face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He pulled strands of my hair from my forehead and tucked them away. “I needed to chill anyway.” He scooted off the bed and walked to the table by the canvases and came back with two sketch books. With an uneasy look on his face, he gave them to me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, still wishing we were making out.
“I sketch a lot.” Color rushed to his cheeks, dimples flashing. “Since you won’t mind-blend with me, I’m going to bare my soul to you by letting you see my work.”
Wanting to know why he was blushing, I pushed aside my raging hormones and flipped the cover before he curled beside me. A sketch of me baking a cake leaped at me from the page. I never cook. In fact, I hated cooking with a passion.
“That’s you taking lessons from Remy. You insisted on baking me a cake on my birthday.” He chuckled, enjoying a private joke.
“And?” I asked.
“It was pitiful.”
I believed him. “So you had a cake-less birthday?”
“No. You and Kylie had already ordered one from a local bakery, just in case. FYI, I’m a better cook than you.”
I elbowed him, then flipped the page, then the next. His blush made sense. The pages were filled with sketches of me, some going back to when we first met. Since I had never posed for him, he must have sketched them from memory. Seeing myself through his eyes was the most beautiful gift ever, and I’d never felt more loved.
- 10 -
NIGHTMARES
Screams echoed in the dark, yanking me into consciousness. I thrashed against the restraints around my arms. Strands of my curly hair stuck on my sweaty forehead and blocked my vision, adding to the images tumbling through my mind—wings and feathers floating to the ground, daggers flying through the air, swords clanging. A rational part of me told me I was in my room and that the arms wrapped around me were Bran’s, yet the nightmare paralyzed me.
“It’s just a dream,” he whispered over and over, running a hand through my hair, pressing my head against his chest.
I clung to him, my screams becoming whimpers. What was happening to me? It was bad enough I had to deal with headaches while awake. My nights were filled with dreams I couldn’t explain.
“Is it the same nightmare?” Grampa asked from somewhere inside my room, my bedside lamp turning on at the same time. Concern knitted his brow as he stared at us. If he was surprised to find Bran in my room, he didn’t show it.
“I don’t know, but she woke up faster this time.” Bran squeezed my shoulders and asked, “Do you want me to get you a wet cloth?”
“No, I’ll get it.” I got up and staggered to the bathroom, Bran following me as though I’d collapse or something. At least he stayed by the doorway as I splashed water on my face. Then I stared in horror at my reflection in the mirror.
Three straight nights without sleep, four if I didn’t catch some shut-eye during what was left of tonight, had turned me into the girl from The Grudge. Dark shadows clung to my eyes. My hair was wild and untamed. My
